


Promise

by Scootyshabooty



Category: Star Wars
Genre: First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 17:33:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13195101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scootyshabooty/pseuds/Scootyshabooty
Summary: Nothing like a little danger to remind you what’s important.





	Promise

_“Now that’s two you owe me”_  
It rang in his ears, a mantra, repeating. To be in debt to Han Solo felt dangerous, a winding spark of excitement in his bones that reminded him of his first time in the cockpit. It was silly, of course, a playful exchange accompanied by soft smiles and gentle eyes, but Luke could take whatever scraps he was handed and turn them into something special. To be in debt to the smuggler Han Solo– surely men had died over simpler things.  
Surely none had dwelled as much as Luke. None had sat perched on their x-wings, chewing at stale rations, eyes fixated on the lean figure fastidiously tending to the falcon. None had imagined what it’d be like for those steady hands to replace tools with skin, to guide up fire hot arms and over shoulders, fingers into dirty blond hair.  
Coming to terms with feelings of the unrequited sort had been easier than he’d thought, life having a funny way of making everything in the background just a quiet chatter now. Expectations were sat in his lap of all the grandeur that saving the galaxy might bring him, and his desire to live up to any and all expectations were only _sort of_ met with the petulance of a young man wanting to live his life. Important things first– the rest can come later. He can come later.  
What Luke doesn’t expect, is how soon later can be. That this time it isn’t anywhere near life threatening, just a stumbling of shock worn limbs into dimly lit quarters, the scolding of higher ups and frantic droids buzzing around his war torn x-wing. His ears are still filled with cotton when a door slides open, arms stopping his exhausting journey in its tracks, and his eyes feel unfocused when they bring the furrowed brow of a concerned Han into view.  
“What– wait, wait, my ears–” Luke barely gets out, drunk off it all and muffled by space, when a mouth covers his own.  
Shock leaves his eyes open, slow to catch up, slow slow slow. Han is fiercely protective, feelings laid bare in a feedback loop gifted to Luke by the force. Still a connection that’s fleeting and unpredictable at best, it connects him to the skipping heart against his chest.  
_Be more careful. Please. Please._  
It’s the reminder that Han is capable of things such as _worry_ that has Luke finally closing his eyes. It’s easier to feel like this, to taste and memorize. Han’s mouth is searing, desperate burning whiskey pouring into every facet of him. And Luke is pliable, parted lips and soft gasps, the honey sweet chaser to Han’s everything, with winding arms around his shoulders and a tired, giving press of his body.  
They part with heavy breaths, deep brown searching light blue, and Luke is the first to break, a soft, airy chuckle. Han is fast to follow, eyes crinkling at the corners.  
“One. One you owe me.”


End file.
